


Let Holly Have the Mastery

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Pre- to post-PoR. Soren, Ike, and winter festivities over the years.





	Let Holly Have the Mastery

"Ike," Soren says, "why do you have a tome?"  
  
It's his first winter staying with the Greil Mercenaries, on Commander Greil's unusually generous terms. Soren has been keeping the ledgers and assisting with upkeep of the fort, in exchange for regular meals, a place to stay, a small quantity of coin, and the promise of more substantial pay when he's old enough to take part in combat.  
  
After a few months, he is still cautious and uncertain, ever wary of whatever goodwill he has somehow managed to obtain running out, but for now the routine seems safe enough, and he has a good sense of how the group operates.  
  
Ike visiting town with the commander, returning in obviously high spirits with a book hidden in his cloak, and then stashing that book under his bed, is not normal. Moreover, judging by the quick glimpse of it Soren had gotten, the book is a tome of fire. Ike, he knows, has no affinity for anima magic, nor does anyone else at the fort save himself.  
  
Ike opens his mouth in what Soren knows will be a denial, but perhaps he sees something in Soren's face, for he closes it again.  
  
Then, "I can't hide anything from you, can I?" Ike says, and Soren wants to flinch from the words, but he is growing familiar with the way Ike expresses his feelings, and he sounds the way he did when Titania had demonstrated her axe-work for him—impressed and pleased, not disgusted or annoyed.  
  
Soren doesn't know what to say to that, to Ike's almost awe-struck regard, so he says nothing.  
  
Ike appears uncomfortable—perhaps with the situation, since Soren's silence usually doesn't bother him at all—and finally bursts out, "it's meant to be your present!"  
  
"My... what?" he asks.  
  
"Your present," Ike repeats. "Father says the winter festival is for giving presents to friends and family, and you're my friend, Soren." He says it without pause, like it's given. Like there's nothing wrong with Soren, and no reason for him not to be Ike's friend. "You can't tell," Ike adds, very seriously.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"It's meant to be a secret until the last night of Yuletide. I'll give it to you then."  
  
"Oh," Soren says. "I... didn't know. I didn't...."  
  
Gift-giving, until now, had not been part of his understanding of the holiday. He has nothing of use or value to offer in return for the tome, and no way of getting such with what little he has. To have failed Ike in this way—Ike, who has been nothing but kind to him since before Soren could even speak—leaves guilt clawing at his insides.  
  
Ike, to Soren's utter bafflement, however, brightens. "It's ok!" he says. "I didn't have anyone to play with but Mist, before. Instead of a present, promise me you'll stay with us? Then we can both get something next year."  
  
It leaves him reeling, for a moment. That Ike could treat Soren's deepest wish not as a burden, but as something positive, even a favor to himself, is hardly believable.  
  
Still, Soren knows Ike at least well enough to know that he is being sincere. That knowledge helps to banish the guilt, and leaves him feeling almost warm despite the fort's chill. There's only one answer he can give.  
  
"Of course, Ike."  
  
* * *  
  
Yuletide at the church had been a somber affair—a time for fasting and quiet, solitary contemplation of the Goddess's majesty. Soren, reclusive by nature, and at the time still disinclined to speak, had paid it little mind. He had gone for far longer stretches without food, and without human company.  
  
With the Greil Mercenaries, it is an entirely different holiday. He helps Rhys light the candles when asked, and watches Ike trailing after Titania with armfuls of ivy, enthusiastically, if ineffectually, helping her to hang them in the fort. There is food, drink, and general merriment, which for the most part he finds more tolerable than enjoyable.  
  
 Shinon's grumbling, Gatrie's ostensibly seasonal 'singing,' and Titania's or (on the rare occasions he's feeling well enough to get out of bed) Rhys's attempts to engage him in conversation aren't particularly pleasant, but there is, he supposes, something to be said for the familiarity.  
  
Moreover, the holiday cheers up Ike. He's never said anything, but to Soren, it's obvious that the winter disagrees with him. The shorter days and the lower temperatures mean more time spent indoors, and while he's never complained, Soren knows the lack of freedom takes its toll. Ike also worries about Rhys, whose frail constitution and near-constant illnesses only worsen with the cold.  
  
Seeing the decorations and the warmth and light of the fort in celebration brightens Ike's mood, and that alone would make Yuletide worthwhile in Soren's eyes.  
  
In years after the first, he comes up with proper gifts for Ike. Training weapons, usually, or tools. At times, he instead gives him replacements for garments which have been outgrown or gotten worn to the point of causing Ike discomfort or inconvenience. Ike's gifts for Soren are likewise practical—books, or spell tomes, usually. It's not and has never been terribly extravagant or sentimental, but neither of them would wish it otherwise.  
  
Soren doesn't think much of the routine of it until that routine is disrupted.  
  
* * *  
  
The war with Daein doesn't leave much time for winter festivities. Simply keeping the army properly supplied and organized occupies most of Soren's time, as well as doing his best to keep Ike from running himself ragged. In lieu of general gift-giving, as some of them see it, he makes sure all of the Greil Mercenaries are well-armed. It's not an intended gesture, but if Mist wants to view her newly-forged sword as a present, he has no particular reason to deny her.  
  
He manages several straight weeks of keeping the merchants—one in particular, really—set up as far away from Ike as he can reasonably manage with a practical camp layout. (The furrow in Ike's brow, near-permanent these days, always worsens a little after his interactions with Aimee. Reducing the frequency of these interactions is the least Soren can do, with how Ike has been pushing himself.)  
  
As for his own interactions with Ike, Soren has been, as stringently as he'd deny it if pressed, avoiding them. He has plenty of excuses—the workload of managing the army, as well as Ike's own duties—but the fact of the matter is that Ike is eventually going to want to know just what Soren has been keeping from him, and stop accepting Soren's attempts at deflection.  
  
And perhaps it's selfish, but Soren isn't yet ready to see if years of friendship with Ike mean anything in the face of his own true nature, or if Ike will only feel more betrayed for having been kept in the dark for so long.  
  
However he will eventually take the knowledge, though, now isn't the time to share it. With the capital of Daein so close within their army's reach, Ike doesn't need the distraction.  
  
And if it lets Soren spend a little longer pretending, from whatever distance, that things are as they've always been—lets him pretend that the only difference between this and any other Yuletide is the war and the scenery, well. So be it.  
  
* * *  
  
"What's wrong?" Soren asks. He and Ike have retreated to Ike's suite of rooms after a respectable time spent at yet another evening of celebration. Ike is sitting on the bed, and Soren's settled himself in the armchair, legs tucked under him, observing Ike. His expression, the set of his shoulders, and the cadence of his footsteps as they'd left the main hall, as though he couldn't wait to be well away from it; they all spell discontent.  
  
As the days grow shorter, and Melior's festivities grow more extravagant, Ike has been seeking out Soren's company more and more often to avoid the worst of it. Soren revels in the newfound closeness, without the weight of secrets between them or the constant threat of Ike's death in the war hanging over his head. For his own sake as well as Ike's, he has done his best to arrange circumstances that give the two of them as much time as he can without causing undue offense to their hosts.  
  
Ike gives him a wry look. "I can't hide anything from you, can I," he says fondly. He considers for a moment, then continues. "It's just... all of these parties. The nobles all flock around like idiots, asking the same stupid questions, wanting to dance, and it just goes _on_."  
  
Soren makes a noise of agreement. He dislikes the parties as well, and Ike, as the hero who slew the Mad King, has to put up with far more attention than he does. Still, although Ike usually prefers to speak of other things in their time together, his discontent with their current circumstances is nothing new. Perhaps it's simply been worse than usual, or perhaps there's something else on his mind.  
  
"Not that I mind the feasts," Ike adds. "It just all seems wasteful, especially now."  
  
He's not wrong. Even with the aid Gallia has sent, and what efforts in rebuilding they've managed since taking back the capital, winter after a year of Daein occupation is likely to be hard on the common people. The time and resources that went into this spectacle could easily have been used elsewhere.  
  
"Elincia has doubtless been under some pressure from the Crimean nobility," Soren says. "Queen or not, in the long term she will need their support if she wants to maintain her own position, or to accomplish anything with it."  
  
In anyone else's company, he might have tried to soften the blow, for much as Ike apparently respects Soren's bluntness, he dislikes causing Elincia distress. It's just the two of them, though, so he speaks his mind.  
  
"She may have taken the country back from the Mad King by strength of arms, but she's untested as a ruler, and they will see her as an idealistic child and little else. While that benefits them, they'll indulge it, or at least tolerate it. When her ideals get in the way of their comfort, however? They will make their displeasure known."  
  
"They would really start a fight over the number of roast ducks at the feast and the amount of gold leaf on the Yuletide candlesticks?" Ike asks.  
  
It's spoken in jest, but Soren frowns, considering. "In the strictest sense, no," he says eventually. "The war is still too recent; for the moment, none of them will defy Queen Crimea openly. They can, however, cause her trouble in other ways. Rebuilding without draining the nation's coffers will require their financial support, and if they can extract concessions from her by holding the well-being of the people on their lands over her head, like as not they will. To keep them on her leash for a little longer, useless and costly events such as these are likely a worthwhile waste."  
  
Ike huffs out a slightly incredulous laugh. "I suppose I thought that the rest of the nobility in Crimea would be more like Elincia," he says. "That they would hurt their own people over such petty concerns defies belief." Then he amends, "Well, I suppose I'd believe it of some of the ones we've met here. What is it about lands and titles that turn people into such idiots? It almost feels like being back in Begnion."  
  
"It would be more extravagant in Begnion, I think," Soren says, amused. Ike makes a questioning noise, and he continues, "Yuletide is a celebration of the Goddess's chosen heroes' defeat of the Dark God. The turning point of the longest night to the slow return of spring is considered symbolic of that victory. As the Apostle is descended from one of those heroes and supposedly hears the voice of the Goddess, and Begnion is the seat of her power, the holiday is of great significance there."  
  
"Supposedly?"  
  
Soren shrugs. "Perhaps she does. But as the only person who can hear Her voice is also in power for that very reason, it seems difficult to verify. As with Elincia, so long as the Apostle does not trouble the Begnion Senate, her right to rule would likely remain unchallenged, whether or not her heritage grants her any special abilities."  
  
"Ah," Ike says. "Another reason Sanaki was so roundabout in her investigations of the senators, then?"  
  
"Just so. Regardless, Yuletide is deeply important to Begnion. As splinters of the Begnion theocracy, however, Crimea and Daein are both beholden to its traditions as well. Since the holiday is most extravagantly celebrated by the aristocracy in Begnion, such shows of wealth are, in a sense, a sign of stability. A claim of sorts, that peace and prosperity have returned to Crimea. What is it?"  
  
This last part he adds, because Ike's gone from considering Soren's words to scrutinizing him closely.  
  
"You're shivering."  
  
"...Ah." He supposes he is. Neither he nor Ike thought to stoke the fire, and the castle is a little draftier than he remembers it being before the war, perhaps from damage sustained during Ashnard's occupation of Melior. Soren's childhood taught him to ignore the cold, and their army's time in the Daein winter had reminded him; little wonder he hadn't paid it any mind.    
  
"Come here," Ike says, and then, at his hesitation, caught between want and worry for propriety, offers him a reassuring look. "It's fine, Soren."  
  
"Very well." Soren stands, hiding a wince at the protest from his legs, makes his way to the bed, and sits hesitantly beside Ike. In contrast, Ike doesn't hesitate at all before wrapping an arm and the majority of his cape around Soren's shoulders, and tugging him close. Soren freezes, until Ike looks down at him in concern. He forces himself to relax, allows himself to enjoy the warmth and the proximity. Slowly, his shivers subside.  
  
They sit for a long moment, Soren watching Ike out of the corner of his eye, and fighting down the urge to press further into his side. Ike himself seems fully comfortable with the closeness, but as they sit, Soren sees his habitual frown growing pensive. Finally, he speaks.  
  
"Soren."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Ike hesitates, then says, "I can't stay here. Not forever, at least."  
  
"Here?" He's not referring to their current situation, surely, since his inability to remain sitting next to Soren in a single cold room was never in question.  
  
"In the castle. At the capital, I suppose."  
  
"Ah." Soren isn't sure whether or not he should be surprised. Ike's sense of obligation, to Elincia, Crimea, or perhaps his father's legacy, led him through four nations and numerous battles. That it would be a comfortable life at Elincia's retaken palace that finally causes him to reconsider that devotion seems almost laughable. Still, it can't be overstated how miserable the situation has been making him. At least during the war, there had been a sense of forward progress, one which has been almost entirely absent from the endless meetings and recent festivities.  
  
"I'm useless here, Soren. I don't understand the politics in any detail without you or Titania explaining them to me, and I'm more likely to say something to mortally offend someone Elincia needs as an ally than to actually do anything useful. There's already less here for us to do now that the Royal Knights are keeping order. Our services would be more useful in outlying towns and villages. And besides..." Ike shakes his head.  
  
"I can't be a noble. I never wanted to be one, and just because it's Elincia asking instead of Sanaki, that isn't changing. Sitting at banquets and meetings and being expected to smile and dance while I could actually be doing something somewhere else isn't what I want to spend the rest of my life on."  
  
Well and good. Soren can't say he's really been enjoying Melior for its own sake either. Best to attend to practical concerns, then. "How long do you intend to stay?"  
  
"Until things are more stable, I suppose," Ike says. "When Elincia doesn't need us here."  
  
"Another year or so, like as not," Soren says. "Though I expect the queen would prefer that you stay for longer." Ike shoots him a confused look, so he clarifies. "You serve as a reminder to the majority of the nobility who claim to be her "loyal servants" that she didn't need them to take back her throne. They may think little of your political acumen, but they are well aware that the Greil Mercenaries' strength of arms alone may be enough to keep her in power and be certain her will is done, whether or not they like it. It inclines them to vie for her favor, rather than test her ability to rule, at least for the moment."  
  
Soren twists his hands in his lap, then stills himself before Ike can notice. He doubts that keeping the aristocracy in line is the only reason Elincia wants Ike to stay, but he isn't going to say anything of that particular notion. If Ike truly intends to leave, he supposes whatever feelings the queen may or may not harbor for him don't much matter.  
  
"Elincia's a stronger ruler than you take her for, I think," Ike says pensively. "I suppose it'll have to be a year or so, then, before we can return to the fort."  
  
He stops, looking perhaps a little embarrassed, as though he thinks he's said something foolish. Then he says, awkwardly, "You aren't obligated, of course. If anyone in the Mercenaries wants to stay, it's up to them.  I'm sure Elincia could use the help of someone who understands..." he waves his free arm vaguely, "all of this. The strategy, the logistics and the politics."  
  
Soren turns his head to see Ike a bit better. Odd. It's unlike him not to meet Soren's gaze steadily, and the look of worry and uncertainty is badly out of place on him. Soren considers the situation, considers Ike, then takes a chance and presses himself a little closer. He's half expecting Ike to draw back from it, but he doesn't, and turns his head to look at Soren more directly.  
  
"Ike," Soren says, letting a smile settle onto his face, "you know my answer already."  
  
Ike blinks, then grins, bright, sincere joy clear in it. "Oh. I guess I do." He turns his whole body to angle towards Soren a bit more, brings his free hand up slowly, giving him plenty of time to retreat from it. When he doesn't, he brushes a thumb across Soren's cheekbone; settles the hand lightly against the side of his face. "That means a lot to me, Soren. Thank you."  
  
This level of closeness is uncharacteristic for them, even with all the time they've been spending together and Ike's general disregard for propriety, and Soren has some idea of where it's going. If it's not, if he's wrong, he'd prefer not to have done anything too foolish. Carefully, then.  
  
Perhaps the feeling is mutual, in fact; Ike still seems unsure. If Soren were to offer some empty platitude about loyalty to the company and lean a little away, he thinks, Ike would drop his hand in an instant. He doesn't.  
  
Instead, he tilts his face up, changing the angle so Ike's hand is cupping his jaw instead of his cheek, meets Ike's eyes and holds the contact unflinchingly. "There's nowhere I would rather be," he says softly.  
  
Still slow and hesitant, Ike bends down, pauses with his face mere inches from Soren's.  "May I?" His voice is a near whisper, now.  
  
Slight movements, so as not to dislodge Ike's hand. Wordlessly, Soren nods.  
  
Ike kisses him. Not at all unexpected, given the moment, but Soren still has to restrain himself from gasping. Both their lips have been chapped by the winter's chill, and by how warm Ike's feel, he supposes his must be cold, but Ike doesn't seem to mind, and Soren certainly isn't complaining. He closes his eyes, sets his hands hesitantly on Ike's waist, and Ike uses the arm he's had around Soren's shoulders to pull him into an embrace.  
  
Ike draws back eventually, and Soren does as well, opening his eyes but leaving his hands where they are.  
  
"I wasn't sure," Ike says, "if you would want this."  
  
"And I had thought you would surely marry into rulership of Crimea. It seems we've both been foolish."  
  
"Looks like." Ike sighs. "I suppose asking you to stay in my rooms tonight would be a poor choice, strategically speaking."  
  
Soren groans, because Ike's right, and he hates it in this moment. "Yes. The maids are almost as prone to gossip as the lords, and it's not worth the risk." But oh, he _wants_.  
  
"That's what I figured," Ike says, disappointed. He shakes his head a little, runs his thumb along Soren's cheekbone again. "That being said, though... I don't think anyone will be looking for us until morning. Stay with me a while longer?"  
  
Only one answer to give, as if it's ever been otherwise. "Of course, Ike."

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by ShinyV.


End file.
